Open Up Your Lovin' Arms
by a pretty little liar
Summary: *On hiatus*
1. Chapter 1: when it rains

**Open up your lovin' arms (watch out here I come)  
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**ch. 1: when it rains  
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... ... ...

"I'm going to run for Senior Ball Queen," she says.

She's sitting in a curved booth at the back of The Grill with Elena, churning the ice in her glass of water absently with her straw. She keeps her eyes diverted, but she can already tell that Elena's brows are raised in apprehensive surprise; her best friend is predictable in that way.

She even expects the question which follows the brief silence.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Her eyes roam the table; her Coca-Cola glass tinted green, the nibbled edges of Elena's loaded potato skins, the little green light that flashes on Elena's iPhone which she infuriatingly refuses to check. When Caroline finally raises her eyes, fluttering her lashes and settles her gaze on Elena's, Elena's dark eyes search her face, the concern weighted and barely concealed.

"I ... I just mean with all that's been going on ... do you ... will you have time to do it?" Elena brushes her fingers through her long, straight locks, threading through tiny snags.

Caroline shrugs, her mind already made. "I'll find time."

Elena's not exactly placated though, and her obvious skepticism begins to rate on Caroline's nerves. "It just... that stuff seems like a lifetime ago." Elena shrugs, exhales in a long, low breath. "It _was _a lifetime ago," she adds, almost as an afterthought and seemingly more to herself than Caroline.

And that's essentially the hammer hitting the nail on the head for Caroline. That's why she wants to do it. "But that's exactly it, Elena!" She reaches a hand forward, grasping Elena's hand in her own, covering it with her palm. "That part of me — the beauty pageants, the crowns, the competitions — those things were important to me." She pauses, chewing on her words, trying to find the perfect way to present them. She's thought about this a lot over the past few weeks; it's not a decision she's taken lightly, and the venue of such a pageant sticks out in her mind, cautioned off with red flags.

"I did those _before _all of . . . this," she waves a hand languidly between them, "happened. That's who I was. Miss Mystic Falls, Student Body President: that's who I _am._" And the curse of the supernatural that's fallen over the town can't take that away from her. She won't let it.

Elena's mouth parts in a silent, delicate 'ah' and her doe eyes flick off to the side for a moment, narrow just the slightest, then fall back on Caroline. Caroline follows Elena's trail, and she holds back a sigh when her eyes land on Rebekah and Kol Mikaelson, the latter who had made a less-than-spectacular (see: wanted) return to Mystic Falls sometime over the past weekend.

Rebekah seems to sense she's being talked about, or maybe hears her name (with her annoying acuity to auditory triggers) and glances over her shoulder, the smug smirk present as it always seems to be. She's still after Elena, and no man — not one of her brothers, not Damon or Stefan, or woman (a still-present Sage) deters her. Even Klaus has threatened Rebekah, warned her to back off after a few calls come a bit too close for his own comfort (because his motives are less than pure; Elena's survival is necessary for the future of Klaus' happiness, and essentially: her life, her blood — guarantees his own).

When Rebekah kisses her palm and metaphorically blows it their way, Caroline does roll her eyes, and shifts in her seat so that her body blocks Elena's view of her.

"Anyway," she shakes her head, brushing out her curls, then twists a large chunk around her finger and tosses it over her shoulder, "I know that you have a lot going on, but I was wondering if . . . you wouldn't mind helping me out, maybe?" Because that's what they used to do. Partners in crime, partners in beauty, and _something _between them should stay the same when everything around them is changing so rapidly.

The smile that lights up Elena's face makes Caroline's still-beating heart swell. "Of course," Elena squeals happily, and Caroline swears her eyes are a shade lighter. "It'll be nice, just to have something to take my mind off of . . . everything."

Holding up her phone, Caroline taps the screen with her fingernail, smiling suggestively. "Sweet! So I was thinking that maybe we could start after school tomorrow?" She opens up the virtual calender in her phone and scrolls through the days of the week, pulling up the _To Do _list for Thursday. "Maybe start sketching things out?"

Elena taps her fingernail against the wooden table top, her jittering foot tapping the metal support pole on the underside. A nervous habit, Caroline has learned.

"Yeah . . . that should be fine."

So Caroline nods and plugs the date into her phone, sets a reminder for herself.

She chews on the thought, contemplates why it's so important to her. She bid her old life goodbye just months ago — even had a funeral for it! But this, this is something that she can't let go of. It's something inconsequential, something minute, but to her, it practically means the world.

It's the only truly human aspect of herself that's left.

... ... ...

She's pulling her Economics book from her locker in the morning when a pale hand shoots out and slams the door shut before she can fully pull her hand away. She stomps her foot indignantly and whirls sharply on her heel, expecting to find Stefan Salvatore, or Rebekah or Tyler. Anyone but Kol Mikaelson, who frames her with a quirky smile and sparkling dark eyes.

"Caroline." His arm stretches above her head, resting casually against her locker, and he hovers over her (which is kind of an accomplishment, because she's freakishly tall for a girl), and his eyes hold hers with an uncomfortable pull.

She doesn't even hold back the sigh that bubbles against her lips. "What are you doing here, Kol?"

He shrugs a shoulder and glances away from her, his lips quirking down into a carefree smile. "I'm a student here," he says, still surveying the crowded hallway (probably for someone to snack on or something, she guesses).

Caroline shakes her head and waves a hand in his face in dismissal. When she steps around him, he mewls in protest and he's suddenly right beside her, falling in step, almost matching her stride for stride. She feels his hand slip around her elbow, his fingertips exerting pressure against her skin.

"Got that, thanks, but what are you doing _here?_" she repeats, as in _why are you following me/do I have a magnet attached to me somewhere that prevents me from getting away from your insufferable family? _

Kol smiles, and it's way too innocent looking to actually be innocent. She doesn't know Kol well, but she knows him enough to know that _innocent _and _Kol Mikaelson _don't go hand in hand. More like, _crazy, _or _impulsive, _or _off the rails _. . .(and for a moment, she forgets which Mikaelson sibling she was describing. Until Kol's fingers dip deeper into her skin, which hey!— she's fairly sure that she's bruising).

"Ah, yours is the first familiar face I've seen, love," he says with a shrug, like that's supposed to appease her.

She totally doesn't believe him. She saw Rebekah's luxurious red car in the parking lot on her way in that morning, and where one Original goes, another is sure to follow.

"Riiight," she snorts (very un-lady like, mind you). "Well I have to get to class." She shrugs and turns sharply to her left, breaking his hold on her arm. He follows her though, blurring to her side as she stalks down the hallway, trying her absolute hardest to seem unphased.

"Okay, well just tell me one thing." His hand is on her arm again, and when she continues walking, fully intent on ignoring him, he tugs on her arm and forces her to stop and look at him. He cocks an eyebrow, waiting with an expectant grin.

She gawks, rolling her eyes. "Fine," she snaps. "What?"

A devilish grin stretches across his lips, one that is so reminiscent of the trademark that is Klaus' smirk (and no, she has no idea why that thought even popped up, because when does she care about Klaus' (dimpled) smirk?).

"How can I get you to be my running mate?" He grins, and his tone is so confident (borderline cocky), that she sort of just wants to stomp the heel of her boot into his big toe.

Caroline squints at him, his question lost in translation, and she glances past his right shoulder at the clock that is bolted to the wall. She has exactly three minutes to get to homeroom before she's marked tardy, and she's already missed way too many days of school as it is. She simply can't afford any more marks against her record (and it's kind of reprehensible anyway, because she's _never _missed a day of school in her _life _up until the past year, and she's slowly finding herself caring less and less which is totally _weird_).

"Running mate?" she parrots. She never really knows what he's on about. Klaus can be overbearing, but maybe he's better than Kol. At least she understands him when he speaks, but she's only have ballpark three conversation with Kol, and each time, he's just spouted off about liking a girl with _gall, _and she finds that where he goes, the urge to roll her eyes an obscene amount of times comes with him. "Running mate for what?"

His eyes sparkle — legit sparkle — and she wonders if it's a vampire trick (an Original trick). Both hands grip her shoulders, and the grin he frames her with is totally devious. If his hands weren't holding her to her spot, she'd definitely have bolted by now.

"The running court," he says, his tone light and totally _duh,_ like she should know what he's talking about because it's so totally obvious. "For the ball . . . " At her blank expression, he narrows his eyes, scrunches his nose, and sighs dramatically. "The Senior Ball King and Queen." He shakes his head and drops his hands from her shoulders, tucking his fingers into the pockets of his jeans.

"Ah, I . . . wait, how do you know about that?" Seriously? He's been back like, a week. Not even. She's fairly certain he hasn't even been in class a full day yet. And since he's been daggered for a hundred years, she highly doubts he's ever attended a school prom, let alone run for the court.

He shrugs, rocking back on his heels and framing her with an infuriatingly teasing smile. "Well that's just the type of information a guy like me knows, sweetheart."

Caroline just shakes her head and turns on her heel, making sure to give her head a little extra shake, whipping her hair in his face.

"Oh come on, Carry," he protests, but when she turns to correct him (she really _hates _that name, because she can't stand Carrie Lewis and shesimply refuses to go by the same name as the slut), Kol is already gone.

... ... ...

She's standing at Elena's locker three minutes before the final bell of the day rings, tapping her foot impatiently. The air around her seems to freeze; peaceful and tranquil for a brief few moments, and then all at once a number of doors open along the hallway and the classrooms seem to spit kids out like vomit; they fall out, rushing, bumping, shoving, yelling as they head for their lockers and their cars or the bus loop (so awesome to be a senior — special lot and her own parking spot? _Hell. Yes_.)

They have a meeting in the auditorium for the running court, and Elena's promised she'd meet Caroline at her locker so that they could head in together. Not that Caroline has a problem going in on her own; she just hasn't really talked to too many people outside of her circle of friends since she'd turned into a vampire (which in retrospect, probably has saved their lives), and she's not really sure that she can just walk over to them and strike up conversation like she's hasn't been MIA (from _their _lives) for the past year.

But she doesn't see Elena's head bobbing above the crowd as she usually does, and she falls back against the locker with an irritated sigh.

"Cara!" It's not Elena who she finds standing in front her, but Kol. He smiles down on her, crossing his arms against his chest. "I'm glad I found you."

_Of course you are_. "It's Car_oline_." She spots Rebekah sauntering towards them, her arms crossed and a coy grin settled on her lips, and Caroline just prays that she'll keep walking right past them. "Have you seen Elena?"

Someone Up There must be laughing at her or maybe they just have it out for her because Rebekah stops right beside her brother, and when she smiles at Caroline, it's a saccharine sweet sort of smile. Her tone however, is laced with distaste.

"Oh, Caroline." Her eyes ghost down as her lips purse, and Caroline feels the dull tingle of embarrassment rush over her, heating her cheeks, and Rebekah doesn't even try to hide that she's scrutinizing her outfit. Kol just watches Caroline, his eyes never leaving her face, and though he's still grinning, there's something different about his eyes; something Caroline can't quite put her finger on.

"I've just come to remind you that we have a student gov. meeting this afternoon." Rebekah shrugs, and she's suddenly taken to examining her nails, "At 3." She looks up then, her face bright with contemptuousness.

It feels like a stake to Caroline's heart, and she can't even hide the whine in her voice. "What? You . . . you're like, part of student government, now?"

Rebekah laughs, her voice loud and fickle, but she shakes her head. "No, no, don't be daft." She shrugs. "I've more important things to spend my time on."

Kol nudges Rebekah's shoulder, muttering, "Yeah, like hijacking student dances and ogling after humans who give her jackets with letters on them." He rolls his eyes and tosses a grin, folding his arms across his chest, and leans casually against the locker. "Pathetic, yes, but that's my sister for you."

Rebekah narrows her eyes, waving her hand in his face, but Caroline's too focused on the earlier part of his statement to enjoy their banter. "You . . . you're on the dance committee?" _Please, please, pleeeease, NO!_

As if the sun spilled all of it's bright, gleaming rays into her face, Rebekah perks up with a facetious grin. "Yep."

"Since when?" Caroline almost stomps her foot, but the last thing she wants to do is look like she's having a meltdown in front of these two, of all people.

Rebekah steps forward, brushing her shoulder against Caroline's and knocks her sideways into the locker. "Just now," and then she's gone, and all Caroline hears is the roaring in her ears, diluted only by the sharp _clink clink _sound Rebekah's heels make on the laminate floor.

"So, Corey," Kol begins, his smile bright and back in place. _Oh my God. _"Stay calm," she repeats to her self, _take five seconds. _Because he's a dimwit, he's obviously _trying _to work her up. (Wanna know a secret? — It's working.) "About that campaign..."

She's saved from having to respond though, because Elena comes up behind her and threads her hand through Caroline's, yanking her away from the young Original. "I'm sorry I'm late," she breathes, shaking her head and pulling on the hair that fans out around her chest. "Alaric held me back."

Caroline doesn't even comment on how weird it is that Mr. Salztman is even _in _school, but honestly, she just doesn't even want to open that can of worms right now because she still hasn't confronted him about him killing her dad and all, and she's still kind of too angry to go about it in a calmly manner. She thinks Elena should know better, that she should forbid Mr. Salztman from like, being around people for the rest of eternity because he has a tendency to kill randomly, but Elena's never really had a problem with murderers roaming the same streets she walks on (or the bed she sleeps in), so whatever.

She'll deal with it later.

As if she's just suddenly realized that _Kol Mikaelson _was hanging out at her locker, Elena stops and turns to Caroline, her thin brows furrowed closely together. She juts a thumb back towards her locker, glancing over her shoulder. "What was that about?"

Caroline just shakes her head, because _really. _

"I don't even know!" she huffs, throwing her hands up in exasperation, and tugs Elena towards the auditorium.

... ... ...

Kol manages to find them, even though Caroline had thought she'd done a pretty good job of concealing them in the shadows at the very back of the room. Elena sits on one side of her and before she can protest, Kol slips into the seat on her other side. Framing her with a cheeky smile, he taps her knee with one hand, gouging his nail into the skin over her kneecap, snagging the thin material of her leggings.

His touch permeates the spandex, and despite the fact that his skin is surprisingly warm, a shiver bolts down her spine just the same.

"So, what have I missed?" he questions, reaching across her to pull her cell phone from her hand. She clutches at it, swiping at his hand, but he's quick and sneaky and holds it out away from her, smiling jovially.

"Nothing," she snaps. "The meeting has just started." She holds out her hand, glaring at him (but despite her best efforts, she knows that she just looks more perturbed than infuriated), and with that annoying, pompous (and somehow still playful) grin, plops it in her hand. Like, he just drops it and it slips right between her fingers, falling to the floor (she catches it before it hits the ground; vampires reflexes, you know).

"Oh my God, would you stop?" she snaps, tucking her phone away in a pocket of her purse, and slides it safely beneath Elena's seat. Leveling her hand towards the stage, she glares at him pointedly. "Pay attention."

She's not actually going to run with him. She's going to try really hard to guilt Tyler to come back before the ball, because he's her boyfriend; Ball King should rightfully be his title, too (she's a shoe-in for Queen, obvs).

But Kol doesn't need to know that, because she doesn't want him to like, go out and start killing random kids as they walk to their cars after class or whatever. He's a bit too impulsive for her liking, and she doesn't doubt for a moment that he'd take any reason at all to kill somebody.

So she humors him. For now.

... ... ...

The meeting for the dance committee is held in a room on the second floor, at the very back of the building. It's a science room; small, cramped, and smells absolutely disgusting, like a thousand eggs had been cooked then left to rot. She nearly gags the moment she walks in, making one of those horrendous faces that ends up as a frame on a gag-reel.

She recognizes some of the people there, but most of them she hasn't talked to since last summer at one of the many parties at the watering hole on the Lockwood property. Before Katherine had turned her the night Tyler had crashed his car (how ironic, she thinks, because she's never really thought about the sequence of events like that).

She takes a seat on the far side, near the windows (and promptly cranks the two she's near open, hoping to waft the fresh air into the room), folding herself into her chair with a tired sigh.

This is the one thing she's been looking forward to all year, because she's finally the one who gets to chose the theme. She's waited four long years to get to this point, and spent countless hours debating, and listing, and crossing out said lists until she settled with _The Perfect _theme.

She can't control most of what happens to her, nothing that happens to her friends, but she only has a few months left of high school; she'll probably never have the chance to go to a normal theme-dance after she graduates, and she fully plans to take advantage of the opportunity while she still can.

She pulls a small Steno notebook from her purse and jots down a few of her (top ranked) ideas. Parties are her thing. Planning, implementing, decorating — _she's got this. _

"Sorry I'm late."

She doesn't even look up, but dread curls in the pit of her stomach, mixing not so agreeably with her lunch. Rebekah waltzes in, a smug smile tattooed on her lips as she slides elegantly into the seat directly front and middle. She crosses her legs and turns to face the small group of students, flipping her blond hair over her shoulder.

"What did I miss?"

Romy Brenno, the senior class president (who bares a striking resemblance to Ronni from the _Jersey Shore_) just shakes his head and extends a light blue piece of printer paper towards her, then passes a copy out to the rest of them. "I need to know what you guys plan on doing for the dance," he says, and points to a small girl with really thick black hair, twisted into coiled curls. The senior class treasurer. "So the budget is . . . lacking funds, and we'll have to do fundraising to make up the difference."

Caroline has already thought about this, and she has the absolute best idea for a fundraiser. She's going to hold a kissing booth! It'll be perfect! She figures that she can charge a dollar a kiss, and maybe she can talk Mayor Lockwood into letting her use that old fashioned popcorn machine she's seen in Tyler's basement, as like, an incentive for people to pay for a smooch (the popcorn would be free, though).

But she's not sure that she really wants to present this idea right now, because she doesn't want the Evil Blood Slut hijacking it or ruining it (and of course she _would_, because when isn't Rebekah being a total jerk and attempting to hijack Caroline's life?). So she holds her tongue until she can talk to Romy on her own. She'd need someone to construct some sort of booth for her, but she might be able to talk Matt into it... or maybe she'll talk to Elena to talk Matt into doing it for her. They've been all chummy lately, she thinks, chewing on the inside of her cheek (she's totally _not _jealous, because she has Tyler, and she's perfectly happy with him).

"Themes," Romy says, moving to stand in front of the black board with a piece of chalk poised at the ready. "What's the theme going to be?"

So many ideas run through Caroline's mind, that she doesn't even know what to suggest first. Fire and Ice, Disco Fun Night (she totally kind of wants to order some platforms, but she'd definitely only be able to wear them for a disco night), or even better — a dance through the decades. She loves the seventies but she also wants to do a 50's sock hop too, or a dirty thirties theme, so it could be cool if they did a mix.

They could totally do something based off of a movie, like American Graffiti or Saturday Night Fever or recreate American Bandstand.

So she likes the prospect of a multiple decade dance, but if they absolutely _have _to stick to one-theme, her heart is kind of set on the 70's.

"How about . . . a Blast From the Past?" she suggests. They've done pretty much everything else; masquerade, western/cowboy. She likes the seventies, because she can dress up without having to spend a fortune on a costume and she can try out those sponge curlers her grandmother gave her when she was younger (she has them buried somewhere in the attic, because she usually ended up looking like an untrimmed poodle after using them). She'll have to find a pair of bell bottoms (she doesn't even own _flares _let alone flares wide enough that they could be substituted as bell bottoms).

She figures she could always watch a few episodes of _That 70's Show _just to get some ideas. She's really good with braiding; she could probably figure out some really cool hair do with braids and curls and bows.

"Like what?" Romy questions, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Rebekah's eyes slide to Caroline's, lips pursed, nose scrunched, and it's painfully obvious that she's not a fan of the idea. But this is Caroline's dance, and she's going to do what she wants to do anyway, so she shrugs and moves to stand beside Romy, turning to face the rest of her classmates.

"Well, like I said, I was thinking that it would be fun to do a 70's theme." She sees a few nods, and she takes that as encouragement to continue. "Like, we could post up stills from Saturday Night Fever and Urban Cowboy, and we could open the dance with The Hustle!" It all sounds amazing to her, and she sees lots of streamers and glistening lights, creating a kaleidoscope of colors on the walls, and they could use words like, 'groovy' and 'copastetic' and okay, really, she wants the DJ to play _Sweet Caroline _because even though it came out in the late 60's, she thinks it'd be so totally awesome to have a song played for her. And really — she doubts that most of the kids in her class would even know when the song came out.

Rebekah shakes her head though, because _of course_. Man, if Caroline had a stake made out of an old white oak tree . . . Rebekah would be getting it real good.

"But that's _sooo_ . . . common," Rebekah drawls, touching her fingertip to her chin in contemplation. "Now, yes to the decade theme, no to the 70's." She abandons her desk and she too comes to stand beside Romy, flanking his other side. "The Roaring 20's... now _that _was the best decade of all."

Caroline chews on her lip, and when Rebekah glances over at her with a raised brow and a knowing smile (you know, because she was there, sort of, before her brother stabbed her into incapacitation).

"I don't know," Caroline sighs, purposefully avoiding Rebekah's gaze. "I think that more people would be able to associate things from the 70's; people can buy wigs from Party City and bell bottoms and shirts with stripes, and let's just be real: this is a _high school. _Nobody is going to know how to do the Jitterbug and whatever else came from the 20's and 30's, but _everyone _knows the Electric Slide and the Two Step."

Rebekah just stares at her, leveling off a nasty glare, and Caroline shrugs back, wishing Elena was there — just someone to back her up on this.

"I don't know, Caroline." Rebekah sounds bored, once again studying her nails and doing an excellent job of appearing disinterested. "I think most people know the Fox Trot, and the Jitterbug is just... swinging."

"You know, I'd like the 20's," a girl from the back of the room speaks up, whom Caroline knows to be the Freshman class president, glancing between two of her friends, to which they of course, agree. "It be so cool to deck out in pearls and wear firetruck red lipstick!"

"Yeah," another girl speaks up, this one Caroline has seen on the JV cheerleading squad. "I don't think it'd be that hard to learn to do swing. Like, in that PCD video, when they are in those frilly dresses..."

Caroline knows what song the girl is talking about (and admittedly, she does love the song _Sway_), but she it's obvious that she's already lost this fight, so she doesn't even bother pointing out that _Sway _was a song from the 50's, not the 20's, and that the Pussycat Dolls only did a cover of the Dean Martin version. Instead, she just bites down on her back molars, seething quietly to herself.

These stupid Originals are seriously ruining _everything _and she doesn't know how much more disappointment she can take at their hands.

... ... ...

"So, word around the watering hole is that a little blond vampire is running for Prom Queen."

Caroline and Elena sit at a small two-person table at The Grill, in a dingy spot just before the second floor rises. The light that hangs above them has a busted bulb, shrouding them in a hazy fog of dust particles and melted light.

Of course, she (Elena) can't go anywhere without Damon Salvatore popping in and adding his two scents worth, and Caroline can only sigh, because okay — she was sort of totally expecting him to try to talk her out of it or make fun of her for liking beauty pageants (_"Hey, I don't object: prettiest meals around," he says affectionately, a shameless grin pulling up one corner of his mouth_), and of course with Kol running on her heels and Rebekah lurking around the corners to find any way possible to ruin her life while simultaneously toying with Elena, it really isn't a surprise Damon got word.

She did however think he'd give her at least a couple days worth of peace before he confronted (taunted) her.

Elena speaks up for her though, staring at Damon through narrowed, cautious eyes. "So what if she is?"

Damon sighs dramatically, rolling his hand in their direction and shifting his jaw, but his eyes do that weird retract-constrict thing and she wonders if it was Elena's defense of her that pisses him off, or just Elena in general.

Probably a little bit of both, she thinks.

But Damon turns to her, and the way his half-grin turns into a full smile totally makes her flashback to _Rise of the Dark Knight: _the Joker's smile. Seriously, the resemblance is uncanny.

He shrugs, and his light eyes positively look right through her. "I don't know," he drawls, "doesn't that kind of seem like . . . a downgrade?"

Of course he doesn't understand her need to run for this competition. He does his best to pretend he has absolutely no human urges left inside of him; why would he understand something as insignificant as this?

But Elena's on point today and having none of it. "Leave us alone, Damon."

His head snaps to Elena, and they stare off in a weird pseudo-staring content. Damon's jaw works, the muscle below his cheek clenching, and his pupils constrict then dilate, then constrict then dilate, constrict then dilate a little bit more and just when Caroline thinks maybe Damon's going to reach over and like, snap Elena's neck or something (because yeah, that was totally another rejection), he grins, snorting a chuckle.

"Aw, come on." He's not really pleading, but definitely taunting, "I'm just trying to get the 411."

Elena crosses her arms and leans back in her chair. Her jaw hardens and she just shrugs, "Well do it somewhere else."

Caroline totally feels caught in the crossfire, because while she's _never _liked Damon (okay, maybe she did a little bit like, way back before she knew _Damon — _but can you blame her? Who doesn't love a tall, dark and handsome stranger in leather who drives a vintage Ford?), this whole passive-aggressive-let's-taunt-each other routine is totally getting old.

But before either of them can get another word out, Damon's gone with the blink of an eye and the cheese fries they'd been sharing have disappeared with him.

... ... ...

Elena leaves before Caroline does because Jeremy calls, and even though Elena insists that he's still safer out in Colorado than here in Mystic Falls (which, _what? _Like there aren't supernatural creatures there too... but again, whatever), Caroline thinks that maybe Elena's resolve is starting to break. It's probably only a matter of time before she decides that Jeremy should come home.

Caroline stays behind because she has still has to sketch up her campaign for Senior Ball Queen, and her house is just totally way too quiet and truthfully — sometimes it starts to creep her out a little bit (let's be real: Mystic Falls is the place where nightmares become realities, you know? So her fears really aren't unfounded or ridiculous, because the chances of them happening are better than them _not _coming true).

But then her mother calls and says that she got out early and that if Caroline could make it home, she was thinking about making dinner.

Her mother doesn't even have to say anymore; Caroline doesn't even care what her mother plans to make — just the fact that Liz is home and basically saying that she wants a sit down dinner together (just not in so many words) is like, _huge _for Caroline, because they don't really do that kind of stuff anymore. Yeah, ever since Tyler bit her, her mother has made more of an effort to be her mother again, but like before, work always takes precedence (and okay— not completely her fault, because her mother is like, the town's only Sheriff). But sometimes when they are together, they don't exactly know what to say to ease the awkward undertones that surround them.

So Caroline decides to finish her sketch for her campaign fliers later, because she wants to get home before her mother changes her mind or suddenly (more likely) gets called in for duty again (because crime at the hand of the supernatural is way too common for this town).

It's the end of March and the wind has picked up something fierce, and whips against her face and tousles her hair, blowing thick strands of blond curls into her eyes. She fumbles with the lock for a moment before finally getting the door open and sliding into the seat.

She's not cold — maybe the coolness of the air is bit nippy, but the warmth of the car soothes her tremendously.

She has way too much on her plate, she thinks as she jams the key into the ignition and brings the car to life.

The engine reeves loudly, clouding her thoughts.

... ... ...

She can add dead car to the list of things that are going wrong in her life.

Only ten minutes after she pulls out of the Grill's parking lot, her car dies.

She seriously (but not really) contemplates finding Tyler and asking him to bite her again, because really? _Really? _Every time things starts to look up, something goes wrong again and the rug is pulled out from beneath her feet. Falling from Cloud Nine, that sort of thing.

So okay, maybe that's a bit dramatic, but of all the times for her car to die, this is definitely the most inopportune. She's stranded on the side of the road in a section that of course, happens to be free of housing and establishments and pretty much all civilization, and while it's not some huge deal for her to go back to The Grill to call Triple A (super speed is pretty great for things like this), it's just like . . . it's that kind of day.

It's her oil, she knows right off the bat, because she's sort of like, ten thousand miles overdue for an oil change. Her mother has been nagging her to get her oil changed and clean the filter, because _"Oil can only last so long _— _they don't tell you to come back just for the hell of it," _but really, that kind of stuff is just totally low on her Importance List.

Or actually, it wasn't even on her list at all. It was definitely off her radar. Waaay off.

Because being bit by your werewolf boyfriend, then being saved by the same guy who made him bite you, then being wooed by said man, then having your boyfriend skip town without saying goodbye and having your best friend's witch mother turned into a vampire all constitute problems that are just a _little _more pressing.

But now she sort of wishes she'd just called and set an appointment to have her oil changed, because she really doesn't have the money to pay to have her car towed, and who knows what's happened to her engine now.

Seriously, this day could not get any worse.

Until it does, when Klaus' familiar black luxury car comes trudging towards her, the revving engine being the only sign she gets that someone's joined her. The window rolls down lazily, and a familiar blond head sticks out from the passenger window a few seconds later.

Caroline leans against her car and for a moment, she contemplates blurring away. Klaus, she could probably deal with, but Rebekah too? No. Just... no. But the car pulls to a stop beside her, pulling over the white lines and Klaus lets it idle.

She expects them to get out of the car; either Rebekah, to boast and laugh that her car has died, or Klaus to like, maybe offer his assistance or check it out or _something. _But neither of them do that. They just stay in the car, and it becomes clear that they're waiting for her to approach.

So she huffs and blurs herself to the passenger side, because even though she sort of hates Rebekah, Klaus makes her kind of nervous. The minute she leans down towards them, the window rolls down all the way and Rebekah's smug face grins up at her.

It's Klaus that speaks though, silencing his sister. He lowers his sunglasses to the bulbous part of his nose (button noses, she thinks), peering at her over the thin rims. "What seems to be the problem, Caroline?"

She expects a smile, or maybe a smug grin like that of his sister's — anything that goads on her situation, but his expression is fairly blank, staring up through tow lashes. Her shoulders tense involuntarily, and her skin prickles with the urge to run.

Klaus is a wild card, and she's learned too quickly not to 1) let her guard down around him even just a little, and 2) not to expect anything when it comes to him (he's the kind of guy that knows you expect him to do the opposite of what you're expecting, so he'll purposefully do exactly what you thought was too obvious, just for kicks).

Rebekah's lashes flutter and her eyes narrow, and that annoying bitchy puss look flashes across her face. "Well," she snaps, waving a hand in Caroline's direction, "get on with it. We haven't got all day."

Caroline juts a thumb over towards her car. "I... it's the engine. It overheated."

She looks at Klaus for a moment, but she finds it easier to focus on Rebekah. He speaks though, his voice too soft and lilting.

"Can I offer you a ride, Caroline?"

He's polite, just as he should be, but Klaus has never been anything but (except for when he's, you know, trying to kill people). She declines though, because it's the moment that she gets in his car that she's worried about. He's sneaky, wording his promises with loopholes and snags, and she's not willing to get caught in them.

"No, I . . . I already called for Triple A." So she totally didn't, but she really isn't going to get in the car with them.

Rebekah snorts, her lashes fluttering incredulously. She turns to Klaus, shaking her head. "She's lying, Nik," she says, her tone full of indifference. She flips the mirror down from the sun guard,and admires her makeup, ignoring both Klaus and Caroline.

"No," Caroline argues, "I don't need a ride."

But Klaus stares at her with skeptic eyes, and his lips part slightly. He doesn't say anything for a beat, and she wonders if that's her cue.

But then, "Caroline, don't be ridiculous. You cannot drive your car: get in."

She won't. "No, I have to stay with my car when they come to tow it."

Klaus looks as if he's about to protest, but then his mouth snaps shut and he narrows his eyes. He holds her gaze, and she can't look away.

"Your choice, love," he grins smugly, shrugging, pushing his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose, and pulls the gear shift into drive. "I'm only a phone call away." (Rebekah totally rolls her eyes and huffs, like that has such an affect on her).

And then, the tires spin on the gravel and he pulls away, tiny rocks and gravel spitting out beneath his tires.

She's left with nothing but the taillights, and a car that won't start.

* * *

><p>AN: Review? I love getting feedback about the flow of dialog, characterization, plot development, etc. It's very much appreciated, and each and every review is taken into consideration.


	2. Chapter 2: Koroline

**Open up your Lovin' Arms (Watch out here I Come)  
><strong>

**ch. 2: Koroline  
><strong>

... ... ...

"I've taken it upon myself to develop our slogan."

She's sitting at a small table with Elena (definitely made to fit only two people) when Kol slaps a rough sketch down on the place mat in front of her. The drawing is crude; not so much as a stick drawing, but there's two bloated circles with eyes; one with embellished lashes and full lips, and one with spiky hair. Their names are scrolled at the bottom in Old English cursive, looking very much hand drawn.

The catch phrase: **Koroline. **

"It's perfect!" he says as he slides into the booth beside her, squishing her against the wall.

She pushes the paper back, ex'ing out their faces.

"Um." She cocks a brow, but she can't help the smile that stretches across her lips. "_No_."

But Kol ignores her rejection and picks up the paper, studying it closer. "We'll take an actual picture," he says, studying the drawing and carrying on as if she hadn't spoken at all. "It's just like, oh, who were those people now..." He taps his chin in thought, his dark eyes studying the ceiling. "Ben... Fer... what?"

Elena looks up, grinning, but Caroline just rolls her eyes. "You mean Bennifer? As is Jennifer and Ben?"

Kol snaps his fingers, turning to face Caroline. His eyes light up and he offers her a wide smile. "Yes." He nods. "That's it!"

But Caroline just snorts, because really? _Bennifer?_ Okay, they were only from like, a decade ago. "First of all, we're not combining our names because we're not running together." She points at his chest, wagging her finger. "And second of all — where did you even see that?"

Kol shrugs nonchalantly, reaching across her to pick at the small triangular slices of pepperoni from her pizza. "Bekah had a magazine lying around."

Still so old, but Rebekah has been incapacitated since the 20's so . . . Caroline doesn't even want to know what she's come across since then.

But Elena is a bit more curious, and speaks up, looking directly at Kol. "Can I ask you something?"

Kol doesn't snap at her or whittle off a condescending remark, just frames her with brows raised in expectation, and a curious smile. So Elena takes that as her cue to continue and leans forward, resting her folded arms on the table.

"You don't know what you're doing for any of this, do you?" she asks. "The point of all of this?"

Kol narrows his eyes, but nods (somewhat reluctantly). "No, I do not."

"Then... why are you doing it?" She shakes her head, her confusion so plain and evident on her face. Elena really is like an open book; most of Caroline's friends are, their emotions visible on their faces and in their body language, but the one thing that Caroline absolutely loves about Elena: she never has to guess. She never feels jaded with Elena because whatever she gets, it's real. Always. "I mean, why is it so important to you? You haven't even been here the entire year."

Kol shrugs and glances down at Caroline's glass of soda, taking to tracing the _Coca-Cola _sign on the front. Whether he's feigning disinterest, she can't begin to know.

"Because people like me," he answers simply.

And that's a trending theme, Caroline's noticed, amongst the Original siblings. Klaus, Rebekah, Kol now, too. She thinks that maybe he shows his real age in moments like these. Maybe they all do. She definitely sees the loneliness that they hide behind savage masks of brutality and overly-assertive self-confidence, and she thinks that maybe they aren't so different from the rest of them; they just want to be accepted, loved unconditionally.

She feels bad, but, for like only a moment. Because she's not so sure what Kol's done (how impressive his rap-sheet is), but she knows for a fact that he came out of his coffin _literally_ itching to kill. And yeah, maybe after one hundred years of being stuck in a coffin with a dagger in your heart and no blood, you'd kind of be itchy too, but, being a vampire doesn't mean that's how it has to go down.

(Which she can attest to, because she has first hand knowledge of this.)

Character assessment— Kol: blood-thirsty (pun intended) killer.

Character assessment — Herself: Mostly innocent Barbie vampire.

So, no. Absolutely not. No way was she voluntarily going to run with him, let alone empathize with him. If he wanted friends, he could make them. Killing friends of those friends: not really the way to go.

"And I want to beat my sister." — And of course, his real reason.

Elena sighs, propping her elbow on the table and her cheek in her palm. "She's running too?"

"Yes." He nods, chuckling with a pleased sense of mirth, "With your blond beefcake of a friend."

Ugh. Fan-freaking-tastic.

She doesn't even know what's worse: Rebekah running, or Rebekah chasing after Matt. _Again._

Her phone beeps with an incoming message, and she cups her hand over the screen when Kol leans over her shoulder to peak. "Ha!" He grins jovially, "Too late! I saw it!"

Caroline just rolls her eyes, and pushes against his shoulder. "Whatever. We have to go."

He lets her push him from the booth, but his lips narrow and his gaze bounces between them, warily, as they throw a few bucks down for tip, and begin to gather their things.

"So the campaign?" he calls after her as she turns away from him, reaching out a hand for Elena. "I'll call you!"

"You don't have my number," she retorts from over her shoulder. She doesn't even blink when he yells —"I'll get it from Nik!"— and just keeps walking, trying her best not to huff or like, show any sign of emotion at all.

She can totally feels his eyes on her, and if her intuition is right (if the burning sensation that prickles at her skin is right), his eyes are fixated on a less than appropriate attribute.

... ... ...

"So what were you thinking?" Matt questions when she gets out of the car, and her and Elena meet him at the sliding doors of the local Lowe's. In truth, she hadn't really thought too much about it; she was kind of more engrossed in the blank expression that Klaus had stared at her with when her car broke down, looking indifferent to her rejection for his help.

She didn't want to spend more time with him — _doesn't _want to spend more time with him, but she just sort of had expected him to . . . well she's not really sure what she thought he'd do. She's not delusional; she hadn't expected him to jump out of his car and offer to explore the engine, dig around for the problem and then promptly fix it free of charge (that last one is especially a stretch), but she'd sort of expected . . . something. _Something else. _He's been, what, pinning over her for the past two weeks?

They haven't really talked since the incident in her room, but she sort of just thought that he'd have held onto some of those feelings. Seriously though, he'd been _intense. _Wooing her, courting her — or attempting to. Do feelings like that just, just go away?

Hers certainly don't. She'd cried over Matt for seriously how long? And like, even when she'd had Tyler, before they'd cemented their relationship, there was some part of her that couldn't let Matt go — and they hadn't really even dated for all that long.

"Maybe like a puppet booth?" Elena suggests, and her voice slices through Caroline's subconscious like a hot knife smooths through butter. She glances up to find a pair of light eyes and a pair of dark eyes, respectively, watching her, waiting for her in put.

"Caroline?" Matt questions, and his brows furrow and he gets that look on his face like he's tasting something sour that he doesn't particularly like. "What do you think?"

"Hm?"

Matt's eyes narrow and he folds his arms across his chest, leveling her a frown. "What's up with you?"

But Elena saves her from answering, "She's just got a lot on her plate, with the dance committee and Rebekah and Kol."

And that reminds her: "Hey, so what's up with you and Rebekah?" She goes all Mean-Girl on him, her head moving levels and her hip pops, and she's not trying to be argumentative or confrontational, but seriously? _Rebekah? _The Evil Blood Slut? It's a wonder the guy is still alive after turning her down once. She wonders if he has a death wish or something, because this whole Rebekah business is bad new bears.

She totally loves all her friends and would do anything for them, whenever, and she'll always look out for them (because that duty falls on her, now that Tyler is MIA), but sometimes it's just . . . exhausting, and they aren't like, trying _not _to put themselves right in the hands of danger (that goes by the name of any of the following: Damon Salvatore (more or less), Stefan Salvatore (a little more _more_ than less), Klaus (no explanation necessary, but she can't really help that he's pinning for her, you know?), Rebekah Mikaelson, Kol Mikaelson... even _Elijah _Mikaelson, for crying out loud! — Hello, he was willing to sacrifice Elena after promising that he simply needed her assistance in killing Klaus! His apology after the fact shouldn't invalidate that, should it?).

She'd like to enjoy just _one _dance without worrying about who might die before the night ends.

Matt shrugs, and when he looks down at his shoes with pursed lips and cloudy eyes, Caroline knows she's put him on the spot.

_Good_, she thinks, _he should be nervous_. Maybe that'll keep him away from The Evil Blood Slut.

"Nothing," he says, kicking at a brown scuff on the glossy wooden floor. Caroline glances at Elena, who shakes her head knowingly and holds up a finger.

Don't push him, she's saying, let him be. But Caroline just doesn't have that kind of self control, and she wants answers! Dammit!

So she pushes. "Are you, like, running? For Prom King?" A silent beat passes between them, and Elena looks away from them both. A peach tint warms her cheeks and she inhales, holding her breath in her chest the way she does when she hears something she doesn't like. But Caroline's already broached the subject, so too late to turn back now! Plus, she needs to get down to the facts.

"Yeah, I guess." His eyes are bright when they land on hers and she sees the regret, the apprehension in them. The only person more expressive than Elena? Matt.

"Against Tyler?" So, maybe she's jumping the gun because she hasn't actually even _spoken _to Tyler yet, but he's going to be back in time for ball, she just knows it.

But Matt's eyes are sort of accusatory as he narrows them on her. "How are you gonna make that happen, Caroline?" he snaps, his voice low but unbelievably soft. "He's not even here. You can't run by yourself."

But that's okay — she has a plan! "No, he's not," she agrees, "but I'm gonna just . . . use Kol until Tyler comes back, then enter his name as a write in ballot." People do it all the time, and Tyler's popular. No problem.

Elena turns so swiftly that her hair flies around her in an elongated halo, and she tilts her head. "So, you _are _going to run with Kol, then?"

Crap. She'd just dug herself into a corner.

"Because if you run with _Kol_," Elena continues, rolling her hand as she contemplates Caroline's predicament, "that means that you'll have to actually run with him; like, be his date and wear matching colors."

Caroline frowns. She's not really pleased about it, but what choice does she have?

"Unless you just tell him that you're not going as dates, but you will run with him?" Matt suggests, shrugging one shoulder. "I mean, it's not like you have to _actually _go with him."

But she she's not sure how she can work that out. "Yeah, but once he realizes that I'm not _actually _running with him — like, when Tyler gets back and we enter him as a write in contestant, he's going to know something's up and that—"

"That's when he goes psycho," Elena finishes for her, with a sigh.

"Yeah."

Seriously, these Originals can just go stake themselves and burn their own coffins because they're are not doing a single person an ounce of good. Not even Elijah, who Elena likes to hum and hoo over, contemplating his whereabouts and whether or not he's thinking about her (which, yeah, maybe she sort of has something for Elijah? It's totally weird and not really cool at all though, because he's _still _an Original, and there's really no guess as to which path he'll take at any given moment, but it's only natural that Elena overlooks that, because... well it's just another day in the life).

None of them say anything then, and Caroline pretends that the weight that rests on their shoulders, the tension that lines her back and keeps her spine rigid, isn't a sense of impending hopelessness.

... ... ...

"Ah." Kol greets her with a grin. "I knew you'd come running eventually."

She just rolls her eyes and shoulders past him, stepping into the Mikaelson Manor. It looks different than she remembers it; much too open, big rooms with bigger spaces and expensive gold trim. The ceiling bursts into a an intricate design in medieval cathedral style, and four large, thick Persian rugs are hung up above the door, hanging from golden colored string twined together.

"Look," she says, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I've come to make a deal."

Kol's eyes light up with excitement. _The way to an Original's heart, _she thinks.

"Come." He pushes her forward, guiding her into the kitchen. It's large and everything is expensive and brand new; sparkling titanium steel refrigerator/freezer set, pure marble counter-tops, an island counter big enough to serve as a dining table in itself, and a cappuccino maker whistles from the corner of the room, near the stove.

"Care for a drink, Caroline?" he asks, graciously, courteous pretenses in place.

She rolls her eyes, and crosses her arms. "Oh, so you _do _know my name?" she comments as she folds herself into a tall bar-styled chair on the side of the island counter. He just shrugs and reaches into the fridge, pulling out a glass pitcher (it sparkles with crystals and Caroline doesn't even doubt for a second that each and everyone is real, and hand crafted — and that the thing was either stolen from a royal palace, or the owners were compelled into giving it away). He points and pulls a glass from the cabinet above his head.

"Would you—"

"No," she interrupts him, eying the coffee machine. "But I'd love a latte — no fat, no whip."

He scrunches his nose at her and she figures she's confused him with her order. He stares at her for a moment, perplexed, but then his expression goes sort of blank, placid-like and he holds his hand out, snapping his fingers.

"Delfie?" he calls, and a few seconds later a middle aged blond woman comes scurrying in. She doesn't make eye contact with Kol; won't even look at him. He tells her that his 'guest' would like a _latte: no fat, no whip? _and she nods, slipping around him. As Delfie prepares her drink, Kol turns back to her and leans his elbows on the table, bringing his fingertips together (she's not going to acknowledge the similarity in the motion to another Original she knows).

"So," he grins, and his voice carries, echoing in the space around them, "let's talk merger."

It's kind of like making a deal with the Devil. Or, one of them. Kol Mikaelson definitely has a set of horns hidden somewhere, and he's already got that sparkly black eye trick down pat.

"The prom," she begins, but he cuts her off.

"You'll run with me?" His grin is boastful and he raises his brows, shrugging noncommittally. "I knew you'd come around."

But Caroline holds up a finger. "I have conditions," she says, and he groans (really, he groans, like a child, and swings his head back like she's just demanded he go clean his room or something).

"Conditions," he mimics, his nose crinkled in disgust, and arms folded. "Alright. Do tell."

So she does. Holding up a finger, she rambles off her terms: "One: we aren't _actually _dates. We just have a common goal, so this is more of like . . . a partnership."

Kol's eyes roll to the ceiling and he strokes his chin, contemplating her first condition. "A _partnership,_" he says slowly, tasting the term on his tongue. At Caroline's nod, he fixes his gaze back on her. "So then, I'm not responsible for you?"

"Um, what?"

"I don't know, Bekah said that Matt has to pay for her ticket and flowers or something such." He shrugs, uninterested. "But if we're not dates, then you buy your own ticket."

Ha, how convenient.

But, "Well, it _is _the _gentlemanly _thing to do . . . but no, I'm perfectly capable of buying my own stuff." Though, she wonders if maybe it'd be a good idea to coordinate, to at least fill the gag. She's going to coordinate with Tyler too, obviously (she's totally going to go ahead and order a tux for him), but prom is in three weeks, and the ballots go out next Friday; she doesn't have a moment to spare, and she _needs _this crown). So, pretending that she doesn't despise Kol?

Well, her acting skills have improved dramatically since she's been involved with Klaus and Katherine and stuff, and like, she did an amazing job tricking Katherine that one time at Tyler's house when they were trying to kill her, and even just recently, she wasn't even nice to Klaus, didn't extend an ounce of charm (but it was an act, mind you: the hard to get thing), and he still followed after her like a lost puppy, so she thinks that Kol, who's essentially Klaus-lite, will be easy enough to play, too.

_Everyone has a game_, she thinks, _hope they like mine_.

"Good." Kol nods, and that cocky grin is back. He looks so pleased with himself, so smarmy and apathetic and just, ugh. It digs beneath Caroline's skin, because these Originals may be 'Originals' in the literal sense of the word, but really, what have they done? Any of them? Nothing. Aside from Klaus killing people... the rest of them, Caroline thinks, are smug just for owning their title.

"I'm not done." She holds up another finger. "Condition two: we coordinate."

Kol's smile falters a little bit at that, but when she glares at him pointedly, he finally gives up with a huff and shrugs. "Fine," he sighs. "—But no pink."

Well, she's more of a red kind of girl . . . but for the sake of being agreeable, she just shrugs and rolls her eyes.

Kol purses his lips and steps away from the island, and folds his arms as he leans back against the counter top behind him. His eyes roam the length of her (and she scoffs because he _totally _lets his eyes linger a little longer than necessary on her chest, but whatever, he's a guy and she has nothing showing anyway), and he frowns, his expression just short of disgust.

"No _purple,_" he adds, spitting the word like it's vervain on his tongue.

But she can't make any promises because she does _love _purple. But then again, Tyler _won't _wear purple, and since she actually does care about his opinion and how he feels, she's not going to subject him to that.

So she agrees, "No purple," but all other primary, secondary, and tertiary colors are free game. When she tells him this, he just tilts his head and stares at her, his expression slated somewhere between confusion, boredom, and amusement, and it's just too difficult for Caroline to decipher.

She doesn't get to think about it anymore though, because Klaus comes sauntering into the kitchen a moment later, a shiny guitar slung from his shoulder. And okay — he totally steals her attention, which is kind of unfair because he doesn't really make a show of acknowledging her. He just shoves Kol out of the way (literally, his hand is on Kol's shoulder one minute, and the next, Kol is flying sideways into the wall to his left), and tends to the fridge.

Kol regains his composure and comes to stand beside him, and that cocky grin is back on his face, and Caroline can just tell (be it from the impish sparkle in his eyes?) that Kol's about to instigate something. She hasn't even really seen them around each other that much (though she knows they have a special kind of relationship), and she's almost . . . nervous to see how this exchange goes. Kol totally reminds her of the pesky younger brother (she's never had) that likes to wind up his older brother just for the sake of seeing the conniption later.

And she's right, because her assumption comes to fruition a moment later when it manifests in the form of Klaus' guitar. She doesn't know much about guitars — anything really, but the one hanging from Klaus' shoulder just _looks _expensive, and when the polish catches the glare from the ceiling lights — it actually _glints_.

Caroline had no idea that Klaus played the guitar, but then she thinks that it totally fits the whole _tortured-soul _thing that he's got going on. Aren't all tortured souls artists or musicians? Isn't that like, part of the equation? If you're a tortured soul, then you _must _be either an artist or a musician, because you need the swirls and strokes of grays and blues to delve into, to paint out the things you can't say, or the smooth flow and the head-banging notes of music to transfer your feelings into?

"Brother," Kol greets, slipping around the island. It's probably a strategic move, because now, not only is the island separating him from Klaus, but he's pulled up a seat beside Caroline, and she has no doubt that if Klaus was to come at him, Kol would totally use her body as a shield.

Klaus turns, pulling a thick tumbler from a shelf above his head, and pushes it beside the bottle of Cognac that he's already set out. Caroline gets a glimpse of the label and rolls her eyes (it definitely said something about being the oldest known Cognac in the world, which doesn't at _all _surprise her, because one — _he _is like, the oldest person in the world, and two — she's sure that he probably stole it from a palace in England or something).

"How nice of you to take some time out of your busy day writing sappy love songs about Sweet Caroline here," Kol wraps an arm around her shoulders and nods pointedly, "to join us for a drink."

Klaus' eyes narrow and his jaw tightens, and he gets that same sour look on his face that he usually gets when Stefan manages to get one over on him (oh, and he gave her that look when she told him that she knew that his issues stemmed from the fact that his father didn't love him at the ball the other weekend).

But Kol pushes on anyway. He angles his head down to her, and smiles jovially. "Honestly, Caroline, you should hear him: strumming away on that thing," he levels a finger at the guitar, "singing ballads about unrequited love and the beauty with the golden hair..."

Okay, and Caroline's not sure that Kol is telling the truth, but she hears something akin to a snarl come from the back of Klaus' throat, and his eyes have gone that dark, stormy gray color that usually precedes some sort of attack (is it bad that she knows that?).

Klaus leans forward, looking every bit as threatening and menacing and angry as someone nick-named 'The Big Bad' should look (as declared by Damon).

"Say another word, Kol," he snarls, his eyes narrowing into dangerous, dark slits, "and I'll take this guitar, and shove it down your throat." But Kol just grins, shrugging like he's not at all phased (which he's probably not. She's seen him laugh off two other similar threats of bodily harm).

Apparently, Klaus wasn't done with his threat though, because he leans in a little closer and adds, "And then when you finally regain consciousness, I'll pull it back out, and use the strings to suffocate you."

Which is a really gross mental image, because the handle would have innards all laced through the strings and that's just _gross_, and totally _not _a visual she needed, thanks. Seriously, sometimes she wonders why she puts up with these people; all they do is talk about organ extraction and suffocation and _If I don't get my way, __I'll kill everyone you've ever met._

She misses the days before Stefan rolled into town, bringing along Damon and Katherine with him, when the gist of her conversations were everything sweet and innocent and right in the world, like cheerleading and the spring formal, and how many calories do you think are in chili cheese fries?

And like, now that she thinks about it that way: God, her life is so messed up. (Or her non-life, if you wanted to get technical.)

Caroline feels awkward now though, because Klaus is glowering at Kol and Rebekah comes flying through the door, _shrieking _at Kol (FYI—Mikaelson family theme . . . today, it's something about barmy brothers trying to upstage her), and then alternating to Klaus, demanding that he take her dress shopping because she doesn't have a credit card, and Caroline thinks that she's just about welcomed her stay.

So she slaps her hands on the counter, which sort of grabs their attention as she pushes herself away from her chair, and points to the door. Klaus and Kol both watch her, the former with an expression that's just a muddled mix of everything he's feeling (and too much too think about), and Kol thoroughly looking like he's enjoying himself.

Rebekah however, barely even spares her a glance. Which is fine with Caroline, because she's still _pissed _about Rebekah hijacking the dance and forcing the stupid Roaring 20's theme on them.

She leaves without a goodbye, and slips from the house unnoticed (she thinks).

... ... ...

"Okay, this is everything I got." Matt dumps a pile of wood and nails in front of them, later in the afternoon the following day. He holds out three plastic containers filled with various sized nails, and hands a hammer to Bonnie, Elena, and Caroline. The latter two just sort of stare at him, with matching, _what exactly do you expect us to do with these _expressions, but Bonnie seems satisfied and drops her hammer beside her, and reaches for the wood.

"Did you bring the sketch?" she questions Caroline as she organizes the wood into groups based on their sizes.

Caroline hands it over, gladly. "Thanks for helping me with this, guys," she says. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Bonnie smiles, but Elena just sort of gaps, and she does that inhaling-holding-breath thing again, and Caroline crosses her arms, frowning. "Alright. Spill."

Elena looks over at Matt and Bonnie, like she's confirming their backup (maybe she's not, but Caroline has been hanging around too many back-stabbing psycho's lately, so she can never really be sure of people's intentions anymore). Then,

"Well we — I was thinking: it might be best if you had a guy do this, too." She waves her hand in the general direction of the paper, and shrugs a shoulder. "I think that the more people you have working the booth, the more money we'll make," she pauses, and her eyes slide sideways at Matt, "which is the ultimate goal."

And like, she's not even wrong, so Caroline can't even find it in herself to disagree, even though she (selfishly) wanted to be the only one doing the booth. But Elena is totally right, and it makes no sense for her to be the only one at the booth. And when she really thinks about it, there are some people at that school that she just does _not _want to kiss.

So maybe a few extra lips wouldn't be so bad?

"Okay," she agrees, slowly. "So, who did you have in mind?"

Elena shrugs, apparently not having thought that far ahead, but Bonnie speaks up. "Okay, don't be mad — I know you won't like this—" and her mouth scrunches into the frown that she gets when she knows she's about to say something totally forsaken and forbidden, and then the worst words ever uttered come out her mouth, and they seriously pound into Caroline, like a stake to the heart as vervain fills her mouth. "—But we were thinking that Rebekah might be a good choice."

And she's almost up and moving away, because _seriously? _That bitch is literally taking everything from her, and now it's happening at the hands of her friends?

Hello, metaphorical knife to the back.

But then Matt's on his feet again, his hands up and his palms facing her and he's basically pleading with his eyes, asking her to just calm down. "No, Caroline, just listen. Hear us out."

And she knows that he's only humoring Rebekah because he doesn't want to die, so she begrudgingly sits and folds her arms, and she's totally _not _pouting.

So she lets them explain.

"We know that you hate Rebekah — we do too. We _all_ wants her gone just as much as you do," and she's completely right, "but you have to admit that the guys sort of . . . " Elena pauses, struggling for the words.

"Loves her," Matt supplies, deadpan.

Bonnie nods beside him, and her face lights up. "I mean, think about it Caroline," she's going all Wise Owl on her now, "with you _and _Rebekah working the booth — the guys will line up."

She knows they're right, she just hates the idea. She doesn't want to share anything with Rebekah, including her time, and she's sort of worried that they might like, get into a fight. Caroline's sure that Rebekah will pick at her, using one of her brothers as leverage or something, because that's the sort of crazy evil bitch she is.

But Caroline reluctantly agrees, because really — does she have any other choice?

"So who's going to be the kissing for the guys?"

Redirection. It's her best friend.

... ... ...

Bonnie's phone beeps a few minutes before the clock strikes 4:30, and her face goes hard; contemplative, defensive.

"I... I have to go." And she drops her pencil abruptly, grabbing her satchel from the floor and throwing them a haphazard wave behind her as she exits the garage, and heads for her Prius.

It's still light outside, thanks to the awakening spring, but darkened shadows peek through the shades, slicing dark lines across the room. The kissing both, one of them, has been put together (mostly thanks to Matt), but as far as designs to make it all pretty and enticing go: they're getting no where.

"So, why can't we just paint it one color?" Matt asks, shaking his head. He's perched on the edge of the work bench, studying his handiwork, and like a real man, he thinks that the easiest idea is the best one.

"Because we have to make it nice so that people will pay." Duh.

"I hope this is safe," Elena comments absently. She's standing behind the booth, sticking her face through the narrow space, as if she's testing out the booth. Caroline half expects her to motion Matt forward, because yeah, she's totally caught those coy glances between them, the fluttering lashes on Elena's part, the inside jokes and friendly nudges they think no one notices.

"It's sturdy," Matt assures her, but Elena shakes her head and gives him a soft smile.

"I meant the kissing part." She comes out to the front, running her finger across the top plank. "Maybe there should be rules or something; like, we could put up some sort of sign that says: Rule #1: Got a Cold? No Kiss. Or... something." Yeah, that was sort of campy. But Caroline gets the gist, and it sounds like the perfect idea, because the last thing she wants to do is get sick courtesy of a measly peck on the lips just before the Decade Dance and prom.

"And no tongue," Matt adds, grinning.

"One kiss per person?"

Caroline nods. "There's plenty of kids in the school. One kiss is all we need." Which is more for her own sanity/safety, but yeah, same thing. She really isn't looking to have some gross kid with big raging pimples and mustard breath trying to kiss her a couple of times.

So one kiss per person.

"And it can't last more than 5 seconds," she adds, because she's sure that there are kids who will take advantage of the moment, if they only get one kiss. So like, she totally loves the idea of a kissing booth and she can't wait until the booth is actually finished and they can try it out, but there's more to it than she'd really though, and some of it doesn't sound so amazing.

"How are we going to put up these rules?" Matt questions, glancing between them.

But Caroline actually _has _thought about that. So she pops up from the desk, and splays her hands out towards the booth, pointing towards the section below the counter. "I was thinking that we could use stencils to paint it here," she says, tracing out invisible letters against the wood.

Elena and Matt look to each other, and they share one of their synchronized nods.

"We could even paint the price up here at the corner or something," Elena suggests, running her finger down the length of the side plank. "I don't know, maybe we'd be able to find a stencil of coins or a dollar bill or something."

"And curtains," Caroline adds. "We have to have curtains. We'll close them when the booth is 'closed'," (air quotes), "so we'll have to figure out a way to attach them to the back."

But that shouldn't be a problem. Caroline is proud to admit that she's pretty crafty.

So they decide that tomorrow after school, they'll stop at JoAnn Fabrics and grab a few bottles of paint ("W_hat kind of paint do we use?"_ Elena questions, "_because we have to cover the _entire_ thing"_), and they'll search for some stencils and scraps of fabric ("_I hope you guys know how to sew_," Matt grumbles) and then start applying the details over the next few days. Caroline wants a plan first, some sort of cool, eye catching design, but she's not really sure where to start.

Maybe she'll try Google? Something that's been done already just simply won't do, and she wants it to pop out, to catch people's eye. But it can't look like a sore thumb in the middle of the hallway, because she's classy and still has a reputation to uphold, and she has a lot of lost time to make up on.

So after Matt and Elena leave (together, of course, in Matt's truck), Caroline grabs a few sheets of printer paper, and begins to sketch out a rough version of the booth. It's just like, a couple of overlapping rectangles, but it works just fine, and she digs around in the bin in her attic for the colored pencils. She's thinking dark, sensual colors; like reds or maroons, and dark chocolate browns. All curtains are velvety red, right? The color that they paint the wood can't be too dark, because she wants the stenciling to show up, but at the same time, she's basically trying to seduce her classmates into giving up their money: she has to make this worth their while.

"I could help you, you know."

The voice is so calm, so casual, his arrival quiet and undetected (and dammit! Why is he always doing that!) and she stills, panicking and suddenly not sure what to do with her hands.

He stands at the edge of her garage, where the pavement meets the cement floor, one hand propped lazily against the white-trimmed door frame. He's watching her with a soft smirk, looking all casual and relaxed with one ankle crossed over the other, a gray henley (all he owns, she's pretty sure), and a thick black cord wrapped double around his neck.

A rosary peeks through his collar, and she doesn't miss the irony.

Caroline just sort of gapes at him, because she's really not sure what else she should do. He's approaching her calmly, and the jerkish facade he'd worn the other day with the car incident is gone, showing her that soft, vulnerable side of him (which, really now? She only gets it when they're in private? _So _not helping his case).

"Uh . . . what?" She wants to look away, she should look away, she tries to look away — but she doesn't look away, because his gaze shifts between her and the booth, and his face lights up (and she doesn't like that, because no, he can't help).

"The booth," he says, nodding towards the kissing booth. He finally steps into the garage, admiring it, running his fingers over the wood. "I could help you with this." His eyes narrow in contemplation and she thinks that he's scrutinizing it. So, it's not the best work, definitely not professional grade, but what do you expect from a dish boy and a couple of ex-cheerleaders?

"It'll need some sanding," he comments, pulling at the ledge (and she wants to scream to him, _don't do that!_), and then turns it around to look at the back. "But with a good primer, there's some nice space to work with, here."

Too casual. Too casual. Klaus doesn't do casual.

She doesn't do casual with Klaus.

So, "No, that's okay."

But then he looks up at her, and she sees the hurt flash across his face. It's just for a moment and it's literally fleeting, and then he quickly replaces it with his mask of indifference (the one she'd been expecting).

"It's not like I have any experience to offer or anything," he says, somewhat self-deprecating and shrugs. It's so clear that he's mocking her, so she crosses her arms and arches a brow unamused, because there he goes again, his affection going awry when he feels slighted (but she'll keep slighting him again and again).

"No, I know that." The least she could do is validate his opinion, right? "I just don't need any help." She adds a quiet, hesitant, "But thanks."

When he speaks again, he's suddenly standing behind her, looking down over her shoulder at the number of scratched out drawings that little the little old red table in front of her are scattered upon.

Klaus harrumphs, stroking the short stubble on his chin. "Well, it doesn't look like you've 'got it'," he muses. He pulls a few of the pictures away before she can get her hands on them, and she reaches for them blindly. He steps around her so that he's standing in front of the table facing her, examining her pictures with way too much interest (which is probably fake).

"Well I do." Great. Now he's got her all defensive.

Klaus just shrugs though, holding up his hands in defense, but his grin is too playful.

"Alright, alright," he chuckles. She expects him to leave, but he doesn't. Instead, he walks around her garage (or actually, he more or less moseys around the room), studying the various objects there. It makes her uncomfortable, one: because he's _there _in her garage for no apparent reason, studying her stuff, and two: most of the junk lying around there is left behind from her father, and that in itself makes her uncomfortable.

If he notices, he doesn't show any sign at all.

She calls out to him, standing, but staying behind the table. It's not the ideal placement because she's stuck in a corner and a table isn't going to do that much in the way of defense (if she used it as leverage against him, he'd probably rip it right out of her hands and then she'd be stuck with nothing), but it sort of feels like a barrier between them, so she stays there, and crosses her arms, hoping that she looks as intimidating as she feels she looks.

"Klaus." He turns at his name, his brows raised in anticipation and a small smile stretched across his red lips. "What are you doing here?"

She sounds tired, more resigned than she wanted to, but he just shrugs and closes the distance between them with a few steps. His hands are behind his back, but she regards him wearily.

"Stalking you, you think I am?" he asks, and stupidly, his gaze holds hers. (She wants to look away but she can't, so darn you, you stupid, moronic, dimpled vampire-jerk).

She shrugs. "Well, you are here..." But she cuts herself off when her wallet suddenly appears on the table in front of her, right on top of her pile of sketches. She kind of just stares at it for a moment, her mind going blank. It takes her a minute to realize that it _is _her wallet, and that for some reason, he'd had it.

"You left this behind," he shrugs (oh, how convenient), "and I simply thought I was doing to respectful thing by returning it." (Ha, Klaus talking about being respectful...)

She picks it up, examining it, and even though she's sure that all of her money and credit cards are still there (well, maybe Kol would dig into it, just to hold it over her head later, but they have way more money than she does anyway so it'd kind of be a ripoff anyhow), she checks every single compartment.

Klaus just stands before her, steady as a rock, watching her with an expression she can't quite make out. Then, "I didn't take anything," he says, and she hears the amusement in his tone.

"I know," she nods, "but it's just... it's instinct." She shrugs, and finally looks up at him, raising her eyes slowly. The wind kicks up and a light breeze filters through the garage, coating her lightly in his scent. "I just... just wanted to check. To make sure that everything was in place."

He nods, curtly. "And is it?"

"Yes."

And they just kind of stand there, Caroline holding in her breath, Klaus grinning madly, and neither of them say anything. Caroline is trying to think of something to say though, something to do — anything to relieve the awkwardness of the situation (because the sunlight catches him _just right_, and his face seems to glow with tan, bright highlights and angles, and his eyes are this intense ocean blue and — _no). _

But then he pops his brows, and steps away from her, slowly. Taking his sweet old time.

"Good day, Caroline."

And just like that, he closes the conversation, and when she whispers a soft _goodbye, _it gets lost in the breeze.

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you so much to everyone that I couldn't respond to who reviewed for the first chapter! You guys seriously rock! And of course, all of my reviewers for the first chapter — you're all amazing, and can thank yourselves for the production of this chapter! (You're my motivation, you know?)

Oh, and one more, more thing: review reply's. How do you guys feel about them? I ALWAYS do them, but then I started wondering if people just get annoyed with them, so like, do you prefer a review reply to your individual review? Or would you prefer a general review reply/thank you at the end of the new chapter?


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